


Oh,  how it is to be young and in love!

by orphan_account



Series: Leftleg writes things that stress him out [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Also no real set time period ig? I wasn't thinking that deep lol, Are Hamilton and Lafayette fucking?? Are they best bros?? Are they both?? You decide, Dick sings, Flirty Marquis de Lafayette, I hate my entire fucking life, Jefferson might show up, M/M, Other, This was supposed to be a joke fic between my friend and i for history but i couldn't leave it alone, a zoinked out washington, hamilton's here, i don't # like Jefferson, i wrote an entire section with Jefferson annoying the piss out of Hamilton with puns so expect it, shrug emoji, so here, they pet a cat???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-03 14:47:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12750456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: /there is no summary bc summaries don't mean shit/





	1. Yeesh I went back and yikes bros it's bad

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this, heathens. Enjoy it while you can.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wrow  
> Dramatics for those who love them #dramatics

“Congratulations, Your Excellency.”, came Lafayette’s words. They were slow, meticulously spoken with the faint tinge of some sort of devilish mischief. He made them sound sweet, yet dangerous. Designed them to excite - to leave one wondering what would come from his lips next.

In his hands were a box.  A lovely, well decorated box that was wrapped in a fine paper of red, tied closed with a black ribbon in a bow knot. Gilbert made . George eyed the box, then paid a glance to the presenter.  He was not put-off per se by the present. No, the gesture was well received;  he minded not what Lafayette did for him in the slightest but, he surely minded the effects.

Lafayette was still young and to George, that was one reasonable excuse as to why the Frenchman acted the way he did. To George, Gilbert was but a puppy-dog.  Although a very adult-like and resourceful pup.

“ _Pour toi._ ”

George cleared his throat and took the box . He turned it over, being careful not to shake it and break what was inside. Lafayette watched him study the gift, bouncing on his heels and smiling with excitement.

“For what do I deserve such congratulations? Surely I am not being jested.” George responded with a small smile. It was warm, hiding some slight embarrassment for being gifted something as sweet upfront. Lafayette returned the smile, shaking his head.

“Would I ever jest you, Your Excellency? Or do you prefer ‘ _Mr. President’,_ now?” He asked jokingly, stepping forward more until they were barely an inch apart. He stood upon his toes to perform his signature la bise, though this time, the action bore twice the kiss upon each cheek, a sign of his deeper affections towards the older man. In return, George hooked an arm around the Marquis’ waist and kept him close, gazing down at Gilbert under the orange glow of the garden lamps. And in that position- in their closeness with nothing but their own wills keeping them apart-- in the warm spring night, with the sounds of  bullfrogs and crickets in the distance and under the bright stars above, George kissed him. He kissed the Marquis slow and deep.  Their mouths touched first with a warm embarrassment, then became bolder, more sure and passionate. Their lips pushed against each other with sweet pressure.  He cupped Lafayette's face with his hands; his fingers, rough from years of labor, caressed the Frenchman's cheek with a delicacy and softness that rivaled silk.

To Lafayette, George tasted like a man.  Like hard work and whiskey. Old and worn yet still operating on an inhumane fuel.  He tasted like victorious rage and power. Godly. Excellent.

And to George,  Lafayette tasted wild; a pure fire that burned the wicks of church candles and set aflame the ropes of canons. He tasted uncharacteristically dangerous yet wonderfully sweet like the icing of a fine cake.   And with fire,  there was heat and hellish danger-- unexpected from the outside appearance of the still young man that he embraced and held so closely.

A hand pushed gently on George's shoulder, pushing him back and breaking the lengthy kiss. Lafayette dared to stare into those blues-those pretty, blessed blues, like the sky’s calm azure or the Blue Jay’s bright feathers--those eyes, he dared to look in, but, he could not...he looked away, bashful. He could feel his cheeks heat under the elder man’s palm.

“My dear Marie, I am not quite familiar still with the customs of the French but, is it acceptable to turn rose and hide away as you give a gift?” George asked teasingly, looking at his flushed friend.

“Well, Mon Général, you’d be quite correct. But, you make me quite...diffident, as one would say. If you were as shy as I under your solid gaze-you too, would look away.”

“I make you nervous, Lafayette? Is it my affections that cause you such ? Perhaps I shall withdraw my tender touches upon your person?”

Oh! Dare he say such words to him! Gilbert gasped  at those words, he could not survive without His Excellency’s ardour and love--he could not bear the thought of going along without the touch of George’s hands or the weight of his lips or body! He could cry at the idea! Curse those words and his poor heart!

“Oh, George! Curse those words that you so idly let slip! Speak none more of such,” He gripped the lapels of George’s outdoor coat. Gripped them tightly, as if letting him go would surely turn him to nothing before his very eyes.”And if your love were to be snatched away from me like a lowly thief steals a horse- why, I’d simply die.”

George, slightly taken aback by the sudden, fearful outburst of the younger man, his face turns to that of deep concern. His brows raised in confusion and Lafayette’s grip grew tighter.

“ _And,_ Your Excellency, you kiss so sweetly, it’d be worse than damnation to never feel your lips upon mine.” He whispered, a playful smile dancing on his face. He met eyes with George.

“Lafayette..Gilbert…I would never but- let us not forget that I am wedded to Martha and you to Marie. There will be a time in which we must part wa-”

“ _AH_! Again with these words! No more! Spare me the words! Je ne veux plus rien savoir! Oh, Mon General,” Lafayette shook his head and pushed his face onto Washington’s coat. His voice was shaking and the edges were just as wet as his face with sorrow, “why must you break my heart like so?”, he finished with a sorrowful whisper into the fabric of the coat. George grabbed the tearful man’s shoulders, firm, authoritative.

“Lafayette, it is not my intent to break your heart, God knows that is not my intent, and I know it makes you weep now, but it is the truth, my boy.”

“Well the truth hurts, _George_ ! It hurts more than a thousand lashings upon a wet back! It burns more than the licks of fire and engelure! Your love _wounds_ me, George!,” He beat at the General’s chest weekly, “Your love's too strong, and I am weak…”

“Gilbert please, please you know that is not my reason for saying such. To wound you with my love, as you say, was not my drive. I did-no, I do not wish to hurt you.”

“But you have...you did not mean to, but you have. Je déteste ta amour...je déteste notre amour--”, Suddenly, as a new wind blew, ceasing the nighttime chatter of the creatures, Gilbert’s mood shifted. His entire demeanor- from the sobbing, nervous mess that wiped his tears upon Washington’s coat to one more leveled and natural.

George felt...conflicted to say the least.

“Ah,” He started apologetically, “I-I’m sorry, Mon General, I-I let my emotions get the better of me. I called you out of title...and weeped before you like a child…”  He wiped at the wet coat with a quick, shaking hand, as if to wipe away the breakdown he just had. George couldn’t help the confused stare he was giving him--it was well earned! Never had he met a more hysterical man, and only had he heard by playful mockery of his boy from others if how wild he could become!

 **'** _Perhaps,'_ George thought to himself,  ' _this situation will not have a proper turn._


	2. Yeesh I went back and yikes bros it's bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They pet a cat and my French gets worse but fuck it

  
 Gilbert's mind was wandering. He was no longer staring at His Excellency; he was staring at his friend.  A self-proclaimed father figure.  
  
He gripped his glass harder as he watched the interactions with the General. He couldn’t help the feeling of anxiousness and envy as others milled about the man, offering him drinks and praises.  That was his job, to shower his man with love.  It was _his_ job to give him all the affection he desired and more.  

  
Lafayette was all the love George needed, and he gave himself to him _whenever, wherever, and however._  
  
He closed his eyes,  taking another, lengthy sip. There was an odd taste in it this time, a sudden, bitter flavor of metal. He continued to drink though, accepting the flavor. The taste, though sudden, was bearable and not at all overpowering, and thus when he finished the glass of wine, he naturally felt a slight spin inside. Behind his lids, he felt himself swoon like a blade of grass in a breeze. He was what one would call “pleasantly drunk”, he was sure, as he felt a delightful heat- a gentle warm inside his body, and an equal warm outside.  
  
But, as if to break his pleasant feeling, a gruesome scene of something red and viciously angry flashed into his mind. Devil’s mischief, it surely was that had flashed itself at him. He was sure of it, for the feeling it left in his mouth was of copper, the smell in his mental nose was of blood, and the pain in his head was like that of fury. His person felt enraged- he felt deadly-  
  
“Major General!” A voice broke in.  Gilbert snapped to attention at the call of his title.  Who called him? He looked about.  
  
“What-”  
  
“Lafayette, your nose! Why, your nose is bleeding!” The man that had alerted him (whom Gilbert quickly took to recognize as Hamilton) was standing nearby, his shout was but a small octave above a normal speaking tone, him doing so was surely to insure the party chatter did not drown his words. Lafayette looked at the man, confused. His nose? Bleeding? Surely he would’ve felt it?  
  
“What do you mean-”, he asked. Perhaps That was the taste in his cup?

A damning drop slipped past his lips and spooked his senses. He touched his top lip, and  looked at his gloved finger, noting how the bright red of his blood stood out extremely on the white fabric. Eyes widening and heart pounding, the once gentle spin he felt as he drank came back harder and made him dizzy. More blood flowed from his nose with the increase of his heart rate and when he tried to stand he staggered. The soldier put his own cup down to assist his general with firm hands on first his chest and back to check the rivers that dripped along his face,  then placed his hands firmly on his shoulders to lead the man out the room.  
  
Though they made just a fair amount of noise, the sight of Hamilton leading away a friend  (something many assumed Hamilton had none of)  made heads turn. Gilbert spared a final glance towards George, who seemed to take notice a bit later than others.  Lafayette rolled his eyes. How could the leader of a full army of men be so late to notice a friend in need?  Slouched and clutching his nose, he and Hamilton waded through the horde of people who had  parted like the sea for Moses, mumbling about the Major General's condition.  
  
When the two made it to the outside, a wash of cool air hit Gilbert with such a force that he nearly lost his footing, nearly causing him to tumble from Alexander’s hold.  
  
They both sat down on a nearby bench. It was dark, cold for a summer night and full of noise.  There were few people walking about, which was a small blessing in itself for then there would be no pressing questions about why the two of them were sitting in the cold of night upon a bench when there was a full party going on inside.    
  
They were quiet, nothing much to say to each other.  They weren't particularly the best of friends, but they shared a closeness that made it very hard to be awkward around one another. They sat there, staring at the lively building that they left. Lafayette removed his bloodied gloves and seeked a handkerchief for his nose.  The bleeding had stopped, but there was still a need for a clean up of his face. Alexander offered up his.  
  
"Merci."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
A cat ran by.  A door opened somewhere in the distance.  
  
"That's not going to work."  
  
"What isn't?"  
  
"You're wiping your face with a dry cloth.  It will only irritate your skin."  
  
"Oh.  Well, I have no soap or water on my person for a proper cleaning, Hamilton dear. " He joked. Alexander didn't laugh.  
  
_'A hard crowd to please!'_  
  
  
"I know that," he reached for the cloth, "let me help."  
  
Alexander took the handkerchief and dabbed it on his tongue to dampen it. With a quick movement,  he turned Gilbert’s head,  and wiped at his dirtied lips and chin. He was careful around his nostrils, for they both did not know the true reason for the sudden bursts of blood and did not wish to cause it to start again. 

“You are like a mother.”

“How so?” 

Lafayette chuckled at Alexander’s absent-minded response. He couldn't tell if Hamilton genuinely didn't realize what he was doing or if he was trying to be funny.  To not make himself a fool, he laughed.

Hamilton did not take kindly to the laughter. He pinched the other's nose.

“Ouch!”

“Désolé, Gilbert.” He did not release his nose.

“Please...my nose..”

“Yes, your nose.”  Hamilton allowed himself a smirk at the Frenchman's position.  It was oddly sadistic, what he was doing to him: holding his nostrils captive with his fingers, as Lafayette's eyes formed tiny tears at their edges. He let go.

“I take it back,” Lafayette began, rubbing his abused nose,  “you’d be a tyrant of a mother!”

They sat in silence again, yet both held kind-hearted smiles. Happy, they both were,  though not speaking with one another.  There was nothing to say. Nothing to speak about. 

A larger cat waddled into their view.  They watched the round beast, with all its fat and weight hanging low and heavy,  walk slowly before them. The cat looked at them with no interest, while Gilbert stared upon it with the utmost regard.

Alexander could care less.

The cat, white with multicolored spots of orange and brown- a calico,  Alexander presumed- threw itself onto the ground,throwing her weight to the side and layind down heavily.  Gilbert gasped at the movement, Hamilton’s brows raised with surprise at the creature.

The calico rolled onto her back (with much struggle), and brandished her stomach for them. Alexander, who had much experience with stray cats walking about, knew of the traps cats posed. He looked to Gilbert,  Gilbert swallowed hard.

“Gilbert. Do not.”

“Come now, Alexander, it is only a cat.”

“Don't you dare pet that creature.”

“Don't fret.” Gilbert was making moves out of his seat. Alexander followed suit.

They both stood and stared at the cat.  She was beckoning them; the sultry vixen.

A door opened elsewhere. The noise of the party could be heard. The calico was ready. 

Lafayette reached her first, kneeling before her round form. He reached out a tender hand to her, and she watched him with wide and watchful eyes. Gilbert rubbed her side, dragging his hand across her fur.

‘ _How soft!’_ He thought with excitement.

“Comment doux! ” He exclaimed with excitement.

Alexander watched Lafayette’s careful motions on the cat's body, how he pet her in the direction of her fur and took precaution not to venture too low onto her belly to avoid an attack.  Hamilton was impressed at the sight, how oft he'd seen men older than he and Gilbert be absurdly rough with their animals, and the thought of being gentle towards strays never crossed their thoughts! Yet here before him, on his knees,  is a man of such high position that it made even his friends blush to be near him-- petting a stray!

Gilbert returned his attention to Alexander, hand still massaging the cat's body.

“Alexander,  do you want to pet?” 

“Strays carry diseases.”

“Que les hommes. Votre point, Alexander?

‘ _Clever_.’ Alexander thought.

 There was an equal expectation of Hamilton to have a seat after he decided to not touch the animal, yet he still stood over the other.  He wanted to sit down, but his legs did not make the movement back to the bench.  Instead,  they bent at the knees and Alexander was crouching next to the marquis.

Out the corner of his eye, Lafayette could see the beginning curve of a smile on Hamilton’s lips.  His own grew a smidge wider. 

“Will you pet her? She is quite sweet for a stray.” He asked,  barely above a whisper.  Hamilton adjusted himself so his legs would not go numb.

“Aye. Must be why she is so plump,” he reached out as Lafayette pulled back and touched her himself.  She was warm and soft,  just as the Frenchman exclaimed before. “She's not carrying. Feels not like it.” he added. 

“How can you tell?”

“I dont know.  She merely feels not like it.”

“Ah.”  Lafayette sighed.

“Ah!” Hamilton cried, jerking his hand away. It shocked them all, the shout of surprise.  Hamilton shook his hand in pain and looked it over with irritation. He knew touching that damn creature would be bad.  

Lafayette scooted closer top look over the wound as well, and Alexander let him (surprisingly). There were three red and irritated lines on the back of his hand.  Not all of them were bleeding, yet there were a few drops forming here and there. Gilbert felt guilty- he did persuade him to pet the cat.

“Hamilton..let me..”

“No, it's fine. A bandage and some ointment will do.  I won't die.”

‘ _Y_ _ou don't know that._ ’  they both thought to themselves separately. Not a word of it aloud.

“ Back to the party?” Gilbert asked with guilt.

“No. It is better out here. Quiet.” 

They returned to the bench. The cat sat at Gilbert's foot, dozing off.

“Et ta nouvelle amie est dangereux." Hamilton remarked, passing a look at the cat, then back to his hand.

“All women are.”

“Hear, hear.”

They both relaxed, lazily slouched in bench. Both of them tired from the night and the drinks and food were finally reaching them.  Hamilton rested his head on Gilbert's shoulder,  Gilbert rested his own atop Alexander’s.

 In the distance, a door opened.  Some lights went out.  The cheer of the party was dimming in their ears. Everything dimmed from their eyes and sooner than a blink,  they both were fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cats.


	3. Hamilton and Jefferson hang out at Monticello and let's pretend Monticello is complete when they do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title says it all tbh but hey.

“Hello, Alexander!”

Alexander sighed. He had not the time for this mess. He sped up his pace down the hall, wanting to get as far from Jefferson as he could manage. Sadly, Jefferson did not know exactly when to give up his unreciprocated attempts at talking to those who wished not to speak with him (an odd thing in which he assumed that anyone with anything worthwhile to say would surely say it to him, but I- the author- digress.). Jefferson quickened his own pace to match Hamilton’s.

“Hamilton! Fancy seeing you today!” Jefferson tried again, his long stride easily bringing him to Alexander’s side. They matched pace, and with a sigh of exasperation, Hamilton accepted his defeat and eased his walk.

“Hello, Thomas..”

“Hello, Hamilton, my dear friend.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“But it is true, you are my dear friend.”

“And what of Adams?” 

“He is my dearer friend.”

“Ah.” 

The pair walked in silence, passing stores and people along the way, saying ‘good days’ and praises to those who did so to them. Jefferson seemed to relish in taking up the space beside Alexander, and with annoyance that equaled Jefferson’s cheer, Hamilton despised the situation. He wanted to find a quick way to get rid of the other as quickly as possible, but Providence seemed to not be in his favor today.

“It smells of rain, Alexander. Do you not have a parasol?”

“Is that why you’re carrying that? Also does it seem that I am holding one? I care not about some supposed patter of rain, it will only drizzle at most, no need for such an ugly thing.”  He responded with a sharpness. He doubted there would be any rain at all and assumed that Jefferson merely wanted to show off his ugly (albeit interesting and mildly aesthetically pleasing) parasol, knowing his was of some higher quality than the majority’s. He wanted to roll his eyes.

“Hamilton. Alex-" 

“Hamilton is fine.  Or you can call me nothing at all.”

Thomas nodded. It was clear that he was losing his own patience.

“ _Hamilton_ ,” he started again,  with a sharpness in his voice,  “I want to invite you to my home in Virginia!” Thomas dropped his hand onto the smaller man's shoulder, Hamilton scrunched his face in disgust.

“Don't touch me.”

Jefferson did not remove his hand.

“Remove your hand, please.”

“Will you consider it? Staying at Monticello for a small vacation? A meager three days? Will you, mon ami?”

Apparently, Jefferson was deaf to demands he did not want to hear. A shame.

“And for what reason, might I ask,  that you so desperately want me to bunker at your home? I see no reason for me to do so.” He responded,  slyly trying to distance himself from Thomas and get to where he was going. If he wanted company,  he would've taken Eliza or met with literally anyone else but Thomas.  Jefferson stopped, which also stopped Hamilton (for he never took his damn hand off his shoulder), and looked at the other with a genuine smile.  Even his eyes had a sparkle to them!

Alexander becomes wary.

“Hamilton,  I'm pleased you agreed to stay the night! I’ll advice dear Eliza before the day is out.”

“Hold sir,  I never-”

“This will be delightful. Being home for days of rest-”,

“Hold on! I didn't-”

“-and bachelor’s care with my…’ _friend_ ’... Adieu, Hamilton,  I will see you there!” and then he left.  With childish joy,  Jefferson departed quickly in another direction,  leaving Hamilton alone on the walkway.

“That bastard... not even the devil himself could make him listen to a word. I detest men who don't listen.” he mumbled angrily to himself.  During their walk,  he had forgotten where he was going and was left to decide to make the venture home or to take a bit of a walk in hopes he'd remember where it was he was set to go.

Just then,  a droplet hit him directly on the forehead.Thunder sounded. Lighting flashed.  The sky opened up, and weeped upon Hamilton with torrents of rain, drenching his every inch with cold summer rain. He lifted his head to the sky with the urge to scream at it and damn the weather.

“ _Damn_ this weather! _Damn_ that Thomas!” he shouted at the clouds. People were quickly retreating to shelter from the storm. He trudged his way through the storm and back home and lo- there upon his couch with his lovely wife, was that damn Thomas. He looked between them,  Eliza stood quickly when she saw him,  worried about his wet state.

“Alexander!”

“Eliza.”

“Look at you,  oh you're soaked to the roots! Let me get you a towel so you don't catch a fever.” She kissed his cheek then waltzed off to do what she said. He looked at Thomas who sat with the smuggest, most bastardly smile he could muster.

“You’re looking rather drenched.”

“I know, Thomas.”

“I must say, the water adds a _splash_ of color.”

“Thomas.”

“Come now, you shouldn’t dwaddle in wet clothes.  You mustn't be lake in taking care of your health.”

“Stop speaking.”

“I'm sorry, you sound quite bitter.  Your voice is dripping with anger.”  Hamilton wanted to choke him right there on his couch.

“Have I offended you? Don't take what I to heart,  it is all in jest.”

Eliza comes back into the room,  a towel in her hands.  She dabs his wet cheek with a part of the cloth, then drops it on his shoulders. In response to her gentleness, he thanks her for the gesture and plants a kiss on her cheek.  

“Also,  my love, you should know all he says should be taken like water off your back.” she kisses him again before he could notice her own joke at his sorry state.

“Et tu, Elizabeth?”

“You should change.”

“I will.” He pointed at Jefferson,  who innocently sipped at his coffee..  “Keep him in your sites, who knows what hell he'll cause.”

She spared a small laugh, “That I will.  Please refresh yourself.”

Hamilton left to freshen up,  leaving the two alone. He could only wonder what thing Jefferson would humor his wife with. Hopefully, it was nothing that'd give her humor at the expense of her wit. He looked at himself.

Conclusion: he was not startlingly handsome, but by God did he have such a lovely nose.

Walking back to the family room,  he heard them speaking with quick and hushed voices.  He stalled to listen in.

“My dear, Eliza- Mrs. Hamilton,  if you would consider it,  it would be well worth the profit in the end.”

“If it is worth it, is not a concern for I know it will be but,  my Alex...would he be pleased?”

“Pleased with what?” He asked when he appeared from his spot and into their conversation.  Eliza and Thomas were seated on the couch again, facing another. His sudden presence gave them a start.

“Alexander…!”  Eliza said with a shock as if he hadn't just been before her eyes a mere 20 minutes prior. Jefferson stood, opening his palms towards Alexander.

“Something that will greatly benefit you, my friend.”

“I'm not your friend,  Jefferson,  have you forgotten? And I also do not appreciate you both speaking of me without my knowledge.”

“We...we were speaking of your stay with Thomas. For the three days? I think it best for you, but I know of your distaste for Mr. Jefferson.”

“I do not wish to go. End of it.  Leave my home Thomas.”

“Shame,  I cannot for my ride does not appear for me until the morrow. And would you throw me into the rain like a lowly dog?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alexander! Why must you be so hostile to the man?”

“He is a damned hypocrite- _"For the common man”_ he says yet he can have imported wine from France every Saturday? You should see this man, Eliza,  he is the worst.”

“Well...that is true.” Eliza backed her husband. “But it will do you good to leave the city. To have country air in your lungs.  He has been speaking of his garden and how full it is. It will be a good place for you to relax yourself.  Mr.  Jefferson has also promised that he would not disturb you for the days other than to alert you of meals. Isn't that right?”

Jefferson looked at her.  He never said that.  He was going to say that he had, in fact,  never said that but she promptly  stomped her heel on his foot before he could. His mind suddenly decided that what she said was just and should he say otherwise,  his foot would not survive it.

“Yes. She is correct. I will not bother you. So...would you please?”

* * *

 

Hamilton’s eyes opened quickly. Upon his nose stood a bird of a light gray, with dark rings around its neck. It looked at Hamilton quizzically, tilting his head from side to side, staring with wide, round black eyes.

But to Hamilton’s sleep slowed mind, it looked like his sweet wife. He responded to ‘her’ in the proper way a husband should when his wife wakes him in such a manner.

“Good morning Elizabeth.  You are stunning as always. “ he said drowsily to the apparition.  Only when the image before his eyes cleared and he realized his mistake,  did he grasp what was occurring: there was a bird sitting on his nose.

The bird did not move.

 Alexander then wondered if he had left the window open in the night and if this was the profit. He wanted to remove the bird (its talons did hurt upon his face so) but then the dear creature amazed him: it tilted its tiny head back,  opened its beak, and let out a short song. It was sweet (this Alexander would admit to Gilbert later in a letter of distress about being lured into the Jefferson home) full of happiness and genuine, animal centric love.

‘ _This_ ’, he would later describe in his letter, _‘was the most heartfelt welcoming of my fatigue plagued person to the God-given morn that I ever had the human pleasure to receive.’_

After the song had ended, the bird flew from his face and landed on the desk chair across from the bed.  It twittered at him in a call to raise him from the mattress. It hopped along the back of the chair, hopped onto the desk and pecked at the diary page that Alexander had left open before retiring the night before.

‘ _Clearly,_ ’ He would write in it later,  ‘ _the dear animal was wise to the working of a man such as myself.  The need to write passages in the morn, the after-noon, and the deep night it appeared to be familiar with. How smart.’_

 _“_ I see. I see.  You wish me to rise and to rise, I shall.”  With a grunt, he got up from the bed and walked to the writing desk,  where the bird sang again.  Twas a pleasant experience he was succumbed to.  

The doorknob turned,  startling the just woken man.  Without warning,  Thomas walked in, cane in hand and smile on his face.

“Good morning,  Alexander.” He said with cheer. He was happy, clearly, for the company of someone outside his immediate family, which Alexander felt a bit sad to dwell on for too long. He chose not to dwell on it for long, and responded with a kindness, for it was morning and the day had started smoothly,  why should he be rude?

“Same to you, Thomas.”

Jefferson smiled, then an excited tweet caught his attention. He began a small walk to the desk,  sticking a finger to the bird,  who happily obliged him by perching on the digit.  He looked upon the bird with a significant softness and ardor.  It was clear his love for the bird was beyond some sort of human comprehension.  

“I see you've met my dear companion. Hopefully he was a pleasure to you this morning; he always brightens my otherwise dull ones.”

He put the small animal on his shoulder,where it started another quaint song for them both.  Jefferson looked quite proud of the pet and its singing. Hamilton crooked a smirk.

“Yes, he was quite a treat. I enjoy his company quite well- perhaps his owner should learn from him.”

“ Oh Hamilton- I own him not.  He is a free spirit residing in my home and to claim ownership of his being would be blasphemous.”

“You have a heart for him.”

“That I do. That I have.”

Hamilton nodded. He suddenly remembered himself and his dress and felt a tiny embarrassment and even Jefferson could feel this as well.  They both could not claim to be the purest or the godly and perfect men, but they did have some shame.

Jefferson cleared his throat.

“I will see you at breakfast. I shall leave you."

“Thank you.”

At the breakfast table,  the two sat apart,  facing one another.  Hamilton paid attention to the windows and what sat outside them.  Flowers of bright hues and sweet smells sat below the panes as butterflies of yellows and blues fluttered about them as did honey bees in happy buzzing collecting pollen. It was peaceful.  For once,  Hamilton felt at peace.

“Are you enjoying my home?”

“I am. It is a beautiful set you have.”

“Thank you, I pride myself on it. Beauty attracts beauty, and I am a simple man.”

“Who loves beauty.”

“What man doesn't?”

They sat in silence once more,  eating their meals. Jefferson wrote something in his journal,  as Hamilton recalled the previous activities of the morning. He sucked in a breath.

“You know...I've never met a man who bore as much heart for an animal since Adam in the days of Eden. You are quite the man, Jefferson.  A sure enigma of a human; leave me guessing of you.” Did it sound too much like he was applauding him? He hoped not.

Jefferson perked, brows raised in surprise. He stopped writing and met eyes with his guest.

“Was that a compl-”

“Do not flatter yourself. It was an observation.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Alexander. I appreciate it.”

“It wasn't a compliment.”

“D'accord.”

Jefferson was smiling up a storm as he finished his plate and coffee.  Alexander wished he said nothing at all.

Later, the two were in their respective areas: Hamilton inside the library and Thomas somewhere down the hall harping away on his violin. Alexander was glad for the distant noise as he nosed through Thomas' collection of books.  While he enjoyed books,  he was not at all interested in what literature the other man had,  but was more so in the workings of Thomas Jefferson’s mind and what drove him to fill notebook upon notebook of notes and observations of his home.  Was it for simple record keeping? Was he bored in his home? His children lived with him so surely that could not be the case? Hamilton didn't know what to make of it other than the fact that Thomas, with his heart and being,  loved nature. More specifically, Thomas loved mockingbirds. He _loved_ mockingbirds.

He wrote much about them in his notes that pertained to avians, and often they were more like well informed ramblings of how gracious the birds are and how they could even be angels or gods in disguise. Hamilton thought it interesting to be so invested in such a thing, but each man had his own habits and loves- even a bastard like Thomas.

He placed a book back on its place on a shelf. He stepped into the middle of the room and looked over the entire place: the well made shelves fully stocked with books both handwritten and properly published,  the neatness of the room, the brightness from the sunlight- it all gave Alexander an odd pang of pain in his chest.

What was it? He went to find Jefferson.  

Alexander followed the music of Jefferson’s violin, which lead him down the hall and into the large parlor. There he saw Thomas with his pet, playing the violin and making fun noise. Hamilton watched them from a distance, noting that when Thomas played a tune, the bird would follow in response with matching the note.  It was like a sort of musical game they were playing and no matter how high or low he played, the bird would follow with an ease. Alexander was thoroughly impressed with the display, though flamboyant, it was enjoyable.

When there was pause in the game,  Hamilton clapped, the sound echoing in the spacious room. It was awkwardly loud and brash after the melodious sounds from before and Alexander wished he had done something cooler. Jefferson bowed anyway.

“That was a show.”

“An enjoyable one, I presume?” Thomas responded, putting away his instrument into its proper casing. The bird flew from his shoulder, circled around, and replaced itself on Thomas' shoulder.

“It was,yes. I heard it in the library.”

“Apologies for the interruption.”

“I never said it was an interruption. I enjoyed the sound.” Hamilton walked into the room and over to where the violin rested on a table.  He touched it. The wood was well polished and had a nice human heat to it,  the color was a fine mix of varied browns that almost made it look red.  It was well taken care of by Jefferson, much like everything else that resided on his lot.

“Why did you put it away?” He asked. They were very close,  apparently.  Very, very close. Closer than they should be for two people that detested one another. Hamilton did not look at Jefferson, Jefferson looked down at him.

Height difference of about 5 inches. Not that big right? Incorrect.

“It isn't something to please a guest with, for I am no performer.”

“You play as if you are.  That counts for something, sir.”

Then there was silence.  Only breathing between them.

“Hamilton,  look at me.”

He stalled, giving a harder, longer stare at the violin.  He looked up at Thomas. How strange, the two of them were.  For a moment, they connected- the air about them did not feel odd or different to suit separate tastes, but felt equalled.

Their eyes met and locked.  Did Jefferson always have such short lashes? Where they always this thick? Jefferson wondered if Hamilton always had such a nice nose.

Jefferson moved forward and put his hands on Alexander’s shoulders.  He leaned forward, making a move.  It took Alexander a second too long to realize what exactly Thomas was trying to do.

“Wait a minute what are you doing?”

“What do mean? I'm trying to kiss you.”

Hamilton stepped back. Confused.

“Why?”

“I thought that's what you wanted! I thought we were connecting!” Thomas responded with confusion.  He really thought they were connecting.

“What gave you the idea I wanted to kiss you!? I would never!”

“You were giving me the eyes,  Hamilton!” Thomas defended himself,  “You were giving me _the eyes.”_

“ **_The eyes_ **?”

“The eyes.”

Hamilton shook his head in disbelief.  Thomas put his hands on his hips and sighed.

“ I should've stayed home. I should have stayed home.”

“You should've.”

The bird twittered sadly.

“Would you get that animal out of here? Its song is sweet but now it will only be a nuisance.” This tipped Jefferson’s attitude.

“Say what you want about me or your situation, but you will not jeer at my dear Dick!”

Hamilton blinked at the sentence. Had he heard that right?

Hamilton questioned him. “You named your bird… Dick?”

Thomas found the question odd. “What's the matter with Dick? It's short for Richard.”

Hamilton looked at him. He nodded.

“Okay then. You and..Dick.. enjoy your day.  I'm going out.”

“Where?” Jefferson asked him as Hamilton headed for the door.  

“Out.”

“But where?”

“Are you my mother now? I am going for a walk. I'm a grown man who needn't say where he shall be.”

Jefferson clicked his tongue.  

“Bye then. It will be unlocked.”

“Bye.”

Hamilton left with a fury the door slamming after him.  Jefferson plopped into a chair with Dick at his side and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sighed deeply.

He felt bad.  He was alone.

“Dick..why is it that those who look for love are met with none, but those who wish not for it, find it upon their stoop? Why must I be alone?” He asked his tiny companion, who chirped a short response.  Jefferson seemed to understand him. 

“You are right. I am not alone for I have you and the children but, even they have left me lonesome for the moment. I wish Martha were here to see you, she'd love you more than I can express.” he breathed out and reclined, “Oh Martha, when shall I see you again?” he closed his eyes. Dick chirped again, Thomas laughed at him. 

"Hamilton? My friend? In a way,  yes."

Hamilton was not partial to guilt in this moment. As he walked the market streets and passed by friends and lovers, he felt guilty.  Not guilty for stopping Jefferson, but guilty for thinking the two of them could be friends. He knew that the two of them could never be so close, yet he let it be thought that they could.

He wanted to go home.

He wanted to see Eliza and his boys .

He needed to go back to Monticello.

He needed to...do something there. Damage control?

He looked at the sky and groaned, then he  begrudgingly trudged back to Monticello and Thomas.

When he returned, he swung the door open with force,  ready to confront Thomas and apologize but...he was met with quite a sight that gave him a scare. Jefferson was sitting in a chair hands folded and his eyes closed. His position relaxed and his breathing was nearly unnoticeable.

Hamilton rushed over to check on him. Jefferson was a pretty old man, about 14 or so years older than he, so him dying at random would not be too  shocking but Hamilton couldn't really take another sudden death after being the last person to speak to the deceased. It'd be bad luck.

“Thomas?” He shook him. He didn't wake up.  He looked around, then shook him again. The man stirred, drowsily, he asked Hamilton what he was doing.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Why would think that?”

“Because you're old.”

“I'm not old, Alexander. I'm only…hmm.”

“Only what?”

“I forget.”

Hamilton scoffed at him then walked off. He asked about Dick’s whereabouts. Thomas said that he could be eating in his cage.

“Cage? I thought you said he isn't your pet.”

“Even gods need cages, mon ami.” Thomas joked. He really did not see Dick as a pet, but he did want to keep an eye on him when he had too many guests.

He was going to say more, but Hamilton chimed in.

"Oh Jefferson, before I forget- I'm sorry."

"What? Say that again, Hamilton. I'm an old man, my hearing is not what it used to be."

Hamilton sighed. "I said that I apologize."

"For?" 

"For leading you to think we could be friends."

Thomas laughed at that. He laughed heartedly at Hamilton’s heartfelt apology and how clueless he was. Hamilton grew annoyed at this. 

"Why are you laughing? I am being serious!"

"I know and that is why I am laughing! Hamilton,  for one so smart when it comes to books, you are quite slow to everything that is not."

"What do you mean?" Alexander challenged. Thomas sat up in his seat.

"Alexander, we are friends. Not in the conventional way,  but we are.  You haven't noticed it yet. It's only been two days and we've become friends."

"Us? Friends?"

"It's more likely than you think,  Alexander."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway i did a fuckton of reading on his damn house and that bitch wasnt finished for a while but I digress.

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck I'm in my 3rd year of French and I'm still unsure of the French fmu  
> Life means nothing


End file.
